A Southerner living in Vermont uses art to explore inner versus outer lives

Mar. 29, 2013

Katherine Taylor-McBroom, a Memphis, Tenn., native has an exhibit in Burlington called 'Ordered Chaos.' Taylor-McBroom said her art was inspired by a belief that houses are synonymous with facades hiding human behavior. / Courtesy photo

A dollhouse from Katherine Taylor-McBroom's exhibit 'Ordered Chaos,' on display at Studio 266 in Burlington through the month of April. / Courtesy of Katherine Taylor-McBroom

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I am originally from Memphis, Tenn., and my upbringing is essentially southern. I consider myself a displaced Southerner living in Vermont. Everyone puts up facades: Northerners, Southerners, Men, Women, Democrats and Republicans. However, I believe the expectation to appear as if everything is fine and in its perfect place is much more important to Southerners.

“Ordered Chaos” evolved partly out of my love for architecture and partly because I discovered the facades of houses to be very synonymous with facades hiding human behavior. I am intrigued by how we are influenced by our backgrounds and environment. I believe homes are extensions of ourselves; we are part of the environment in which we live and die. Homes are our sanctuary; they hold our secrets, and exist as a place to envision our future.

My experience growing up in the South revolved mostly around these expectations and how a home should look, which usually extended to the women in the household. Most Southern women gladly assume this role as decorators, party planners and keepers of the ‘stuff’ behind these well groomed walls. It was impressed upon me as a child that the home is a reflection of the woman. For most Southern women, it’s not only the homes that must be impeccable, but their personal facades as well.

This belief encompasses both emotional and physical appearance. When my mother came to visit me after the birth of my son in 2009 she was surprised to learn I would gladly run off to the store without a full face of make-up. My mother never went anywhere without her hair and make-up perfectly completed, even if it took two hours to do so. I had forgotten this tiny unwritten rule of a southern woman. I also have several memories of growing up and hearing things like “keep it together, we have company,” or “put your best face on.”

The painful and enormous loss of my father when I was 16 years old continues to infiltrate my artwork today. At 16, while trying to cope with his sudden death, I would play the same song during my grieving process. I remember a female family member coming in the room, turning off the song and saying to me: “You need to stop it; you have company, get yourself together.” I think the work “In Reverse” made for this show evolved out of this memory. The work is an assemblage of black and white facades with red rooftops arranged in a disorderly fashion. The exterior is collaged with images depicting chaotic emotion and obvious turmoil. Through the windows the interior scenes depict several images of a car crash which caused my father’s injuries and led to his untimely death years later. This work reveals that the exterior should match the interior. In this work as in others sometimes art becomes therapy for me. I allow whatever emotion or memory to transpire and rise to the surface.

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I had a bit of an adjustment phase when I landed here in Vermont, since I’m not sure my outwardly gregarious behavior was well received. I really think Vermonters just didn’t know what to think about me, and I ran off a few very guarded potential friends in the process since I’ve been here.

Even though it was a bit of an adjustment, I do find living here rewarding because I’m able to relax some of my Southern expectations. This realization came two years ago when I was hemming my curtains. I noticed they were uneven and I was stressing about it. Since we were having a party, I said to my husband, “Everyone will notice they are uneven.” My husband thought for a moment and said, “If we have people measuring our curtains then we have bigger problems.” I laughed and learned to relax a bit about everything not being or looking perfect. Vermont has taught me to live simply and to create my own sanctuary that is a real reflection of me and sometimes that means things aren’t always perfect.

I still keep up my house just in case company stops by ... as any good southern woman would do.